Milena exhaled contentedly, as if she'd just wrapped up a pleasant afternoon tea rather than, you know, casually unspooling the existential knots of our lives.
"Well," she said, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves, "that concludes today's lesson in divine manipulation and ironic tragedy."
I squinted. "That's seriously your exit line?"
She winked. "Oh, don't worry. You'll miss me."
And then—without fanfare, without magic circles or glowing lights—she simply began to fade.
Literally.
Like mist dissipating in sunlight, or a memory slipping through the cracks of sleep. One moment, she was there.
The next, gone.
No sound. No trace. Not even a dramatic flutter of feathers.
Just… gone. Dissipating into the air.
And it hit me.
That was too hard. No, too fast even.
I stood frozen in place, the silence suddenly too loud.
